ivyology | maybe this year will be better than the last

The new semester, and returning to Smith, very alone, is becoming a clear picture of reality in my mind. For the first time. Where did summer go?

I ordered posters. I'm buying a new bedspread and a new rug. I've started packing, a little. I'm bringing less this year; my recent aversion to clutter makes that easier than before.

I went to dinner with my father and we mostly were civil. Linsey called and it made me happy. I'm glad she'll be back spring semester. I miss her.

Mostly things are good. I'm not scared yet, though I know I will be. I don't want to be.

I hate how, when I know what I want to buy, I can't ever find it. This is especially true with clothes. Or boots. I want black boots, with laces, that go halfway up my calves. Of course boots with laces are nearly nonexistent and those that do exist, have ridiculous platform heels. I'm five-ten. I do NOT need platform heels.

I don't feel like eating anymore. Ever. That's probably bad. I lost ten pounds this summer without meaning to. But I just have no appetite and I just don't care.

Gah. I feel weird. I hate the night, sometimes.

maybe this year will be better than the last

drool